Red
by Sicily
Summary: ALL the Weasleys have red hair. A very silly little ficlet. R/H


  
  
rated PG  
disclaimer: not mine  
summary: _All_ the Weasleys have red hair.  
  
  
Hermione Granger's eyes flashed dangerously as she regarded her fiancé. You want me to do _what_?  
  
Ron Weasley answered, rather inarticulately.   
  
Hermione answered, shaking her head. Good lord, you're serious.  
  
Ron nodded miserably. It's tradition, he answered meekly. Weasley, red, you know . . .  
  
Hermione shut her eyes tightly and took several deep breaths. You _are_ serious, she said. I can't believe it. I can't believe you're serious.  
  
It's not my fault, Ron answered. It's honestly not. Penelope did it, and Fred even talked Angelina into doing it in the end, I don't know how. It's a long-standing tradition and you can't be the first one to break it, Hermione, you just can't. Even _Fleur_ did it when she married Bill. And normally you'd think Fleur would be the last ever, but she...  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to tell him she could and would be the first one to break this particular tradition, but she saw his face, pale and blotchy. Ron, my dear, she said gently, I love you, I really do, and I want to marry you. But I happen to like my hair _brown_.  
  
All the Weasley women have red hair, Ron explained. There's this spell, it's very simple, you'd be able to do it in about a minute, Hermione . . .  
  
It's not the complexity that's the problem! What are my parents going to say? First I fixed my teeth, now I'm dyeing my hair . . .  
  
It's not dye, you know, Ron answered seriously. It's not a potion or anything. It's just this really simple charm --  
  
My parents are Muggles, Ron!  
  
But they know all about magic and all, he said earnestly.  
  
Ron, I thought you liked my hair the way it is, Hermione said. The whole time we were dating, you were fine with me having brown hair. You even used to tell me it was pretty.  
  
It _is_! I love your hair, Hermione, I honestly do, and if it were up to me you'd never have to change it. It's my crazy family. All the Weasley women have red hair, and if you don't, you have to change it til it is. It's _tradition_.  
  
I don't care. Ron, I love you, but my hair is going to stay brown.  
  
It wouldn't be _permanent_, the spell wears off after awhile, you have to redo it every year or so, anyway -- and there's a countercharm, for if you want to take it off for awhile, or something, but Hermione, you have to, I'll never ever hear the end of it if you don't . . .  
  
Why is this so important to you?  
  
It's _tradition_, Hermione.  
  
But it still won't affect basic genetics, Ron! Our children, I mean, she continued, blushing, if we decide to have any, of course, they'll still get the genes from my brown hair even if I dye it red for you. Which I still haven't said I'm going to do.  
  
They haven't told me how to work that out yet, Ron said earnestly.  
  
But Ron! Everyone who knows me, all my friends, everyone from Hogwarts, they grew up with me, they _know_ my hair is brown.  
  
Mum's hair was black before she married Dad, and now look at her, Ron replied. And no one even notices it any more.  
  
Excuse me for saying this, Ron, but your Mum has seven grown-up children --  
  
Ginny's not grown up!  
  
-- Yes she is, she graduated three years ago. And as I was saying, if it takes the third generation until people forget, then I'm _definitely_ not doing it.  
  
But Hermione...   
  
No, Ron, absolutely _not_.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
_Here goes nothing_, Ron thought, as he tossed the Floo powder into the fire and stuck his head in after it.  
  
There was a small, feminine shriek of surprise as his head popped out of another fire place. He saw a set of ankles stand up and then disappear as his sister-in-law knelt before the fire.   
  
Evening, Fleur, he said, a voice just the tiniest bit strained. Her now strawberry-blonde hair swung in front of her face.   
  
she cried. 'Ow are you? Ow is   
  
We're both well, he answered, smiling tightly. Listen, is Bill about? I'd love to chat, but I'm really pressed for time right now. . .  
  
But of course! One more moment, and I will bring him, she said, standing up.  
  
said Ron, watching her walk away. He still had a hard time forgetting that he had once asked his older brother's wife on a date. Fortunately, he reflected, she seemed more keen to remember his role in saving her sister from merpeople, and he definitely wasn't ever going to remind her of the other part if he could help it.  
  
Hey, little brother, Bill said, grinning down at him. What's up? How's Hermione?  
  
All right, Ron said evasively. Look, actually, that's what I came about. Do you have a second?  
  
Bill sat cross-legged in front of the fire. What seems to be the trouble? Something your dashing, charming, lady-killing brother might be able to help with?  
  
Keep acting like that and I'll tell your wife you're a lady-killer, Ron said sulkily.  
  
Oh, she knows, little brother, she knows. Now, did you really come to chat about my lady-killing skills?  
  
Ron sighed. Yes. I did.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Mrs. Weasley sighed in contentment as she watched her son and new daughter in law twirl each other around on the dance floor. The wedding had been spectacular, every Weasley in attendance, and now the new couple seemed happy to ignore everyone else at the reception. They were laughing as they danced, completely caught up in one another. Hermione's hair was a pretty shade of auburn.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Laughing, Ron carried Hermione over the threshold of their new flat in downtown London. He kissed her soundly on the mouth and spun her around the room, unable to wipe a huge smile off his face. Hermione nestled into her husband's arms, smiling too, unable to think of a time she had been more content.  
  
He set her down gently and grinned down at her. At over six feet, Ron towered a full six inches over Hermione. He hugged her to him, playing with a lock of hair.  
  
Does it really look red? she asked, noticing where his fingers were.  
  
Not to me, Ron grinned, kissing the hair. Same bushy brown as ever.  
  
Hermione chuckled. How on earth did you come up with that solution, anyway?  
  
Weasley family secret. It looks red to all those people who think Weasley women _should_ have red hair, and brown to those of us who are enlightened.  
  
What shade does your mother see it as, I wonder?  
  
A gorgeous auburn,' I believe was her phrase.  
  
Hermione shook her head. That was a tricky charm, but it was worth it, she said. It would be really upsetting if your Mum didn't approve of us marrying.  
  
She's a stickler for that kind of thing, Ron agreed, rolling his eyes a little at the thought of his mother's reaction.   
  
Was her hair really black before she married your dad?  
  
No. I found out later, it was actually red. Everyone was pleased when they got married. But she impressed on all of us the importance of this family tradition.  
  
So, does Fleur's hair look blonde again to you?  
  
Ron gasped. How did you know I'd talked to Bill?  
  
Fleur would have been hardest to persuade, of course. She loves that blonde train.   
  
Ron grinned. Sorry, love, I sometimes forget I married the cleverest witch ever to graduate from Hogwarts. He kissed her. But to answer your question, no, it still looks strawberry to me, for the simple reason that they put different quantifiers on the charm. Fleur's hair looks red to all Weasleys, and yellow to anyone outside the family. It's always Mum who raises the objections, no one else really cares.  
  
So I'm going to start seeing her as a redhead, too?  
  
Ron smiled. That you are, Mrs. Weasley.  
  
Hermione took a step back. Who said I was changing my name?


End file.
